


Soon

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, Episode Related, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-08
Updated: 2005-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-26 18:29:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12064605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: 513 post-ep.  Brian's relieved.  He is.





	Soon

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Brian pretends he’s okay for a week. It’s surprisingly easy, because there are so few people to call him on it. Despite Michael’s gesture on the night of Justin’s departure, he’s not around that much—he’s busy picking Hunter up from track practice, pricing fares to Canada, making dinner with Ben. Mel and Lindz are buying furniture and looking for daycare and only email to pass on their new number.

Deb catches him at the diner and asks after his well-being in a tone that would sound angry to a stranger, and when Brian looks up too much shows in his eyes because she insists that he come over for supper. Emmett’s there with his latest attempt at true love, and Brian finds it unspeakably depressing that Emmett’s getting laid while Brian Kinney has been celibate for five entire days. The next day he goes out and gets high and fucks a couple of strangers, who are appropriately appreciative but inadequately trained.

He’s relieved that he’s not getting married. He is. He’s thankful the temporary insanity passed. For Christ’s sake, was he seriously going to fulfill Justin’s wildest domestic fantasies ad infinitum, until the house was full of dogs and Guatemalan orphans and, heaven forfend, carbohydrates? 

It’s just that no one knows how to blow him like Justin. It’s just that Cynthia didn’t laugh at the stupid innuendo in his last ad slogan. It’s just that he hasn’t let anyone else in Pittsburgh top him since college, and he surprisingly badly wants to get fucked.

He is fucked.

He sells the loft to one of the many former tricks who wants to keep the painting of the naked guy, because every time he walks in he half expects Justin to call out “Hey!” as if Brian opening the door is all he wanted for Christmas.

He doesn’t close on the house, because the plumbing didn’t pass inspection and the owners wouldn’t agree to fix it.

He puts together a kick-ass campaign for a hot new fashion designer with friends in New York who need more exposure. The designer begs him to model for the fall line and although Brian categorically refuses, he does condescend to wear the outfit while fucking the guy.

Ted quits his job to tour with the Gay Men’s Ski Team, and there don’t seem to be any competent accountants left in the Pitts.

It turns out Cynthia’s always wanted to move to New York.

When the insurance money from Babylon comes in, he goes up to Manhattan to look at apartments and office space.

Justin sent his address, of course, and Brian quickly finds the club nearest his smaller than a breadbox apartment. Justin is standing at the bar, which is just as well because Brian’s heart has already set up a disturbing tap dance in his chest, and if he went to the back room he’s not sure he could even come. He steps up right behind Justin and says directly into his ear, “Buy you a drink?”

Justin turns an inch and flinches like he’s seen a baseball bat. Then he goes incandescent and kisses Brian for about half an hour. Thank God. It looks like Brian may be able to sample most of the things he’s missed with no declarations at all. When Justin flicks his jeans open, he does free his mouth long enough to say, “Your apartment have flat surfaces?”

“Yes, God, let’s get out of here,” Justin pants.

The apartment has numerous flat surfaces, both vertical and horizontal. It also has roaches. He’s got to get Justin out of this place. What’s a little more debt at the Bank of Brian compared with roaches scaring away your tricks? 

Despite the roaches (possibly in consequence of the many, many orgasms), Justin sleeps peacefully through the light that wakes Brian up. 

When he asked, “How long are you here for?” Brian told the literal truth (till Tuesday) instead of the real truth (as long as you are) because there were all those reasons before the temporary insanity, and what if Justin really wants Guatemalan orphans?

Now that Justin is stretched out naked on the crappy futon and Brian’s arm is asleep, the insanity is returning. Brian’s not sure whether this is bravery or weakness, but if Justin needs an orphan, or a puppy, or a lot of tickets to Canada, it’s worth it. It’s fucking worth any of that to have Justin naked on Brian’s sheets every night, Justin calling “Hey!” when he steps into the apartment, Justin’s jambalaya in the fridge, Justin’s eager tongue in Brian’s mouth. It’s certainly worth moving to Manhattan, which he should have done years ago anyway.

Brian eases his arm out, shakes it, pads around naked, realizes there’s no shower, can’t believe he didn’t insist on taking Justin back to his hotel even though they would have both gotten off unceremoniously in the cab, and is pulling his jeans over his sweat-sticky legs when Justin sits up.

“Where are you going?” Justin asks, and because he’s never been able to conceal anything, or because Brian’s known him since before he had to shave, Brian can hear that he’s nervous.

Brian buttons his jeans. “Nowhere special.”

Justin smiles, concern replaced by amused affection. Brian’s never said that before, but Justin remembers his line. “I can change that.”

Brian sinks gingerly onto the pestilent futon. “Sunshine,” he says, “I’m counting on it.”

Starting to get dressed was completely pointless.


End file.
